


I Hate You

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: ? possibly, Curses, Dehumanization, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fratricide, Implied Murder, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Gore, Physical Abuse, Slurs, of the ableist/racist/homophobic/transphobic variety, silvestro digs himself a hole in the Asshole Pit deeper and deeper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 16:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17625998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: They'd always known who was the better twin.Who would have feasted on the other's corpse.It wouldn't have been him.





	I Hate You

**Author's Note:**

> Johan Ramirez and Willy Franks belong to Control_Room

Silvestro hated his brother.

 

Everything was his fault.

 

From his existence, to Silvestro being left alone in that room with the only company of a braindead retard who screamed and cried for hours on end loud enough to deafen him.

 

Karpos was stupid.

 

He had no brain. One could read it in his ugly face.

He lived in a different world, in some stupid land above the clouds that apparently he like very much, because he was always up there, and it made him yell and weep and shiver at nothing.

 

Silvestro kicked him to make him stop, but the whiny little bitch would just go ahead and be even louder.

 

The only reason he sticked around with this piece of fuck was because it would have died without him.

For such kindness, he deserved the best food the idiot could find, and every last penny he earned.

 

It ate messily and fast and went scavanging in the trash cans for more.

 

He looked at how ugly it was, with its awful eyes and long hair.

With that stupid bag covering his horrible face.

It was truly disgusting.

A disgusting, demented crybaby.

 

Silvestro felt like it owed him its life for even looking its way instead of letting it die in an alley.

 

Because unlike it, Silvestro was perfect.

 

He had very nice blue eyes, and a clean face, and nails that weren’t eaten or broken from scratching.

He didn’t have oily hair, or torn clothes, or wounds and scars from fighting dogs for pieces of meat.

His voice sounded lovely and when he smiled he looked gentle and trustworthy.

 

Of course people liked him.

Of course they gave him money and food and clothes.

Of course their hearts melted when he smiled and said thank you very much.

Of course they looked at how sad and skinny he was and agreed that such a helpless little kid in a big, scary, cold world needed their help and attention.

 

All of his earnings were only his.

 

Karpos, stupid, useless Karpos, preferred spending its money for birds he found laying around.

 

Silvestro hated Karpos, and he hated its stupid birds.

 

He hated the money it got and the way it spent them.

 

It should have given them to him.

 

For all the times he didn’t leave it in some filthy trash can.

For all the times he allowed it to find food to feed him.

For all the times he kicked it out of dreamland.

For all the times he tollerated it.

 

But no.

 

Karpos was too busy now.

 

With birds and work and the stupid Spirit in his la la land.

 

He would have showed it.

He would have gotten a job too.

A good one.

Where he would have commanded people.

 

That was his place.

 

Above everyone.

 

Of course, Silvestro got that job.

 

He stepped on people to get that job.

 

It wasn’t his fault. That was his place. They were usurping it like runts of the litter trying to hide the strongest child from visitors in fear they’d never get chosen.

Runts of the litter didn’t deserve to exist in the places he was supposed to be.

 

They tried to make him leave. But he was better than them. He deserved more than them, at any give moment, because he was better than they would have ever even dreamed to be.

 

Employees started leaving left and right. With tears, pills, knifes, ropes. He remained. Not that he cared for any of them. He just earned a lot. He was successful. He got himself a home, paid it off, found a better position.

 

Then he left.

 

They didn’t pay as well as they used to.

 

For some reason, he had decided to keep his brother with him - or better yet, allowed his brother to stay with him.

 

His ugly, stupid brother that grunted and wore a creepy mask like a brain damaged hobo.  
His awful, good-for-nothing, retarded sibling that looked like a savage and would have never survived on its own.  
His filthy, malnourished, braindead, lifeless shell of a close relative that had been born by accident and didn’t even try to be normal.

He wanted that thing close to him. Whatever the reason, he didn’t know.

 

But while Karpos was with him, it grew a brain for a second or so.

It decided to never be Karpos again.

 

It decided to be Eska.

 

Silvestro kicked him in the head in the corner he had trapped it and spit on it.

 

What a stupid name.

Worthy of the complete retard it was.

 

He would have called it Karpos like he had done since they could remember.

 

What could it do, if not bow its head and listen to the big twin?

He could get some more bruises, that’s what it could do.

 

But it was set on having Silvestro take back his act of kindness. Just to make its presence even more insufferable for his far superior brother than it already been for all those years, it kept bringing a bunch of animals along with it.

His absolutely least favourite among the zoo it liked to sorround itself with had to be its fox. It was small, fat, idiotic and lazy, and made weird stupid sounds.

It made him sick.

He bought a gun. He used to follow the fox with the muzzle while sitting in his chair, under its terrified eyes.

 

It left his home immediately and moved to a hole.

 

He made sure it wasn’t too far away from him.

 

To keep an eye on it.

 

Silvestro hated having it as his shadow.

Following him wherever he went to work like a flea sucking blood.

 

He started thinking, maybe it was sicker in the head than he had imagined. Maybe it liked being bossed around, underpaid, at his perfect brother’s feet. Maybe it was one of those mentally ill fuckers who hit themselves for pleasure. Maybe it loved the way he treated it.

Maybe it loved him.

 

God. It was so fucking disgusting.

 

He kept changing jobs.

The companies would stop paying well a while after he was employed, and when he left they would crumble on themselves. He’d left behind himself a trail of fallen card castles, damaged people and corpses that chose their own deaths.

 

It wasn’t his fault.

They were in his way.

What else was he supposed to do?

They should have known better than to take his place.

 

And behind him followed silently the useless husk of his bad copy.

 

It followed him in the animation studio.

 

The place was a goodamn mess. Swarmed with negroes and faggots to the point that the head of it all was even both. But if he had to he would have endured it, as long as the bastard signed his checks and didn’t say a single bad word of him or his way of acting.

 

And even if he did, he had more than enough ways to make him regret his decisions fo the rest of his short, pathetic, sad life.

 

Actually, he started immediately.

 

Just to make sure that gay fucker understood who was really in charge.

 

Silvestro hated all those who worked there.

 

They had the nerves to look at him wrong.

To criticize his shortcomings and how he treated them.

To shove him out of the way if he was stalling somewhere.

To force him to knock it out when he started to get physical.

To tell him to stop when he said something that for them went too far.

 

But the worst thing was how they acted with Karpos.

 

How could they.

How could they allow it to be around, and yet ask for him to leave?

How could they reject him, and yet look at it without flinching? 

How could they just deal with its weirdness?

How could they just accept it?

 

How could they - how  _dared_  they treat it like a human being?

 

It drove him mad.

 

What was worst…

 

What was worst was that they seemed to.

 

They.

 

(He was hitting it because it wouldn’t take off that stupid mask. The Asian dyke with her fat bitch saw him and called in that slut of the staff manager, and then - he felt a sting on his cheek, and his ears filled with whistling. He was forced back into his chair angrily. He heard them talk to it gently.

He was demoted after that.)

 

They seemed.

 

(He had spat on him from making him leave that shitty Jew alone right when he was about to make him have some of the sick fun Jews like. The negro tranny put himself between them and dragged it away, with a look that promised death. He bet he spilled everything to the big boss upstairs.

He was demoted after that.)

 

They really seemed to.

 

(That faggot loved it. The weak ugly piece of gay shit giving him orders was in love with it. How did that abort of nature manage to fall for the most horrible thing in the world was beyond him. He would have shoved him down the stairs if it hadn’t stopped him. He almost broke its arm for standing up to him.

He was demoted after that.)

 

Like it.

 

That wasn’t right.

That couldn’t have been right.

That couldn’t have been possible in the slightest.

 

Karpos was the most flawed thing to have ever existed on the entire planet. It couldn’t have been liked or loved or even just thought of nicely by anyone.

 

Silvestro was better than it in every way, he was perfect, he was above all else.

 

And yet there he was, turning into a lobotomized sloth’s shadow.

 

He had to stop this.

 

He had to.

 

That wasn’t right.

 

That wasn’t how it should have been.

 

That wasn’t how it was going to go on.

 

He would have alienated it from everybody else and striped it of all the comfort and support and help it had collected in their workplace, leaving it naked on the filthy ground among mongrels and wasps and worms, until it would have come crawling back to him begging for forgiveness and warmth. He would have denied them both to it, because it wasn’t deserving of either of those luxuries, but he would have let him live.

 

So long as none of this happened ever again, and he fit his role.

 

That of the disgusting, inhumane, retarded thing that nobody with a right mind would have ever wanted, allowed in his presence merely out of mercy.

 

And it would have been  _thankful_.

 

Surely a little trauma would have helped.

 

The two janitors, twins, were they not? Just like the two of them.

One of them was almost normal, had he not been a black faggot. But the other, he was definitely the weak one. He’d seen him coming dressed like a lady (another goddamn transvenstite. This filthy place was full of those, wasn’t it? Absolutely revolting), shiver at the sight of pills and booze, feel easily upset.

 

Most importantly, he seemed to be friends with  _it_.

 

Silvestro began talking to him.

 

Insistently.

 

Aggressively.

 

More and more, every second he could.

 

He never left that poor asshole on his own.

 

Constantly, he would speak to him, over his shoulder, in a soft tone.

 

He kept his voice slithering into the other’s ear on a steady flow, every word grabbing pieces of the janitor’s brain and sucking everything from him full force similar to a hundred leeches. Every day he couldn’t help but look worse, and Silvestro lived for that.

 

Until finally he cornered the janitor and saw him break to tears before his eyes, begging for death.

 

He threw him a knife and turned his back to him.

 

He wasn’t going to get his hands dirty for a pathetic being like that.

 

He was slammed into the wall by a blood-curling scream.

 

A horrifying pain crushed his diaphragm, knocking his air out, and something long and sharp dug into his muscles, tearing them apart in multiple spots until someone managed to get a bloodlusting furious Karpos off of him and take it away before helping out the suicidal janitor.

 

Its eyes were aflame.

 

Silvestro was stitched up.

Nobody wanted to help him, but he would have sued them otherwise.

He didn’t speak. He was shocked.

 

_They didn’t fire it_.

 

They made up some bullshit about how it was right to outright attack him (how dared it) because it was trying to protect that excuse of a human being from whatever and whoever was leading him to his death.

 

_They_  would have let it stay.

 

_He_  would have been shoved out of the door as soon as his cuts healed.

 

Never to return again.

 

He couldn’t have gotten rid of all of them before then even if he tried asking favors from every last demnted pawn he had left in shambles over the years. Too many bodies to hide, too much blood, too much time, too much effort.

He just couldn’t make them all disappear soon enough.

 

But…

 

He had the gun. The gun he had bought for the fox. He’d never used it. It sat quietly in one of his drawers. Waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

 

If they weren’t getting rid of Karpos, then.

 

Well.

 

He would have.

 

It loved Silvestro. Of course it did. It was so obvious it did. It had stuck annoyingly to him for almost two decades despite the constant abuses and insults, following him like a dog while being treated worse than one, it had to love and admire him above all else.

 

A death by the hand of its normal, better, superior, perfect brother had to be the reason behind its whole existence.

 

It would have rejoiced at the sight of him.

 

**(HIM BEING AT HIS DOOR WAS SO BEWILDERING IT GAVE HIM TIME TO CRUSH HIM ONTO THE FLOOR OF HIS OWN HOME)**

 

It would have fallen on its knees, awaiting feverishly.

 

**(HE BROKE HIS WRISTS AND ANKLES SO HE COULDN’T HAVE TRIED TO MOVE IF HE WANTED TO BEFORE GETTING THE KNIFE AND PUTTING TO USE WHAT A BUTCHER HAD TAUGHT HIM AT SIX YEARS OF AGE)**

 

It would have probably got off just hearing the gun cocking.

 

**(HIS EYES, HIS UGLY BICOLORED EYES, THEY WERE SO ANGRY, HOW COULD THEY BE THAT ANGRY, IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO BE THAT ANGRY, AND HIS VOICE WAS IMPOSSIBLY LOUD WHILE HE BROKE HIS NOSE, AND HE FELT SO AFRAID OF HIM RIGHT THEN)**

 

It would have begged him to end him like a woman on his bed.

 

**(TWO DECADES HE HAD ENDURED HIM, HIS BEATING, HIS WORDS, HIS EGO, HIS GODDAMN EVERYTHING, AND NOW HE TRIED TO TAKE AWAY WHAT HE’D BEEN MISSING HIS WHOLE LIFE, WHAT HE HAD STARTED TO THINK HE’D NEVER GET, THE LOVE HE HAD BEEN DENIED BY HIS OWN BROTHER, AND HE WASN’T GOING TO JUST LET THAT SLIDE)**

 

It would have took off that stupid mask to let the muzzle touch his forehead.

 

**(BECAUSE BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER, SILVESTRO)**

 

He would have shot it, and right before that…

 

**(SO, SO MUCH THICKER.)**

 

It would have thanked him.

 

 

Eska gave Johan and Willy each a little charm the morning he came alone.

He had carved it himself just for them.

To keep bad thoughts away.

 

Its texture felt strange.

 

Like ivory.


End file.
